“More than I apparently thought,” I giggled.
Yeah, I, a fully grown, thirty-seven-year-old man, fuckinggiggled.
Which triggered a fit of laughter from Delia and, though her face was slathered in some sort of greasy looking substance she’d previously told me was a cleansing balm, she threw herself atop me.
Face inches away from mine, she said, “When we get married, I will absolutely be taking your last name, so you don’t have to worry about that.”
“Delia Lawless,” I drawled. “I love the sound of that.”
“One day, QB,” she said as she heaved herself off me and retreated to the bathroom.
“I’m ready when you are, Whiskey.”
“Whiskey, if you don’tget that fine ass down here right now, we’re going to be late!”
“Well you won’t tell me where we’re going, so I don’t know what to wear!”
I heard his footsteps on the stairs and a moment later, Owen appeared in the doorway of our bedroom. “You could wear a paper bag and you’d still be the hottest woman alive.”
I softened a touch, though I was still frazzled, and approximately twenty-seven dresses littered our bed and the floor around it. I stood in the center of our walk-in closet, clad only in a pair of nude panties. “I love you for saying that, but I disagree.”
“Actually,” Owen said, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around me from behind, his large, calloused palms coming up to cup my breasts. His head bent, nuzzling my neck, placing a biting, sucking kiss over my pulse. “I think you should go just like this. It’ll make it much easier to fuck you later.”
I spun in his arms and swatted at him, shooing him away. “Help me!” I pleaded, fisting my hair at my temples.
“You do realize that, by asking for my help, you’re going to wear the first thing I pick out, and you’re going to do it with a smile on your face.”
I folded my arms over my tits and cocked a hip, glaring at him. “Or what?”
He approached, cupping my chin in his hand. “Or I’ll carry you outside just like this and force you to go to dinner in nothing but this floss you call panties.” He punctuated his point by slipping a finger under the flimsy material bisecting my ass cheeks, pulling and letting it go with asnap.
Though we weren’t strangers to seeking our pleasure in semi-public places, the picture he painted wasn’t exactly my idea of a good time, so I said, “Noted.”
With a nod, Owen moved across the closet to the rack where all of my dresses hung, organized by length and color, sifting through the shorter ones.
I rolled my eyes, unsurprised. The man loved my legs.
Transfixed, I watched as his long, thick fingers danced over the hangers, rapidly considering and discarding each new option.
Finally, he settled on one, and turned toward me holding a little red number with a flouncy, ruffled skirt and delicate straps that crisscrossed down my back, knotting at the base of my spine.
Carefully, he removed it from the hanger and loosened the tie as I approached, steadying my hands on his shoulders to place one leg through the skirt then the other. With a gentle palm on my shoulder, he turned my back to him and adjusted the straps, his fingertips brushing distractingly against my skin as he worked his way down, tightening them before tying the little bow. Hehooked his fingers in the material and pulled me back against him. My chest heaved, my desire heightened from the simple act of him dressing me.
Not entirely surprising given that everything about this man turned me on.
“Who knew putting clothes on you could be as fun as taking them off,” he said into my hair.
“What happened to being late?”
“I don’t know, Whiskey.” Against my backside, I felt him starting to thicken, and I couldn’t resist grinding my ass into his groin. “You in this dress has me thinking we should just stay home.”
“No!” I shouted, shoving out of his arms and heaving a head-clearing breath as I retreated a few steps. “I’ve been looking forward to this.”
“You don’t even know what we’re doing,” he reminded me with a smirk.
I shrugged, moving to my shoe rack and selecting a pair of strappy, scarlet heels, sitting on the padded bench next to it to slip them on. “It’s our anniversary.”
Owen and I didn’t have an anniversary in the traditional sense, so we’d both agreed as the day drew near that the day we first fucked would suffice.
